A Talk to Remember
by Violaceae
Summary: A distracted Professor Dumbledore attempts to fulfill his duty as Harry's (magical) guardian by giving him The Talk. It doesn't go well. Set during the summer before third year.


**A Talk to Remember**

"Albus, Albus, Albus," the old goat shook his head.

It had seemed simple enough this morning: a quick stop at the Leaky Cauldron before he was due at the Ministry, a brief chat with his favorite student, a little wisdom, a little laughter, and with that his duty as the boy's (magical) guardian would be fulfilled for another year at the very least. But of course the boy always did have a way of complicating even the simplest plans. The strangest thing was that he didn't even know _how_ things had unraveled so quickly. This was supposed to be easy. Talking was easy—he could digress and dissemble with the best of them. But now, as gazed once more around this little room above the bar, leaned back in his favorite squashy chintz armchair, and fished yet another lemon drop from a deep inner pocket of his cornflower blue robes—now, he somehow found himself quite out of his depth.

He shook the cobwebs from his mind and regathered his thoughts. But before he could open his mouth to speak, he noticed the boy was watching him with some concern. Again.

" _Obliviate._ "

"Now, Harry," he smiled kindly. "I wanted to talk to you today about a matter of some delicacy."

"Sir?"

"There comes a time in every young wizard's life …" he trailed off wistfully.

Ah, youth—what wonders await the boy, what pleasures! He shook his head again.

"As I was saying, you are approaching the age when many young people discover …" he trailed off again.

He was but fourteen when he first laid eyes on Gellert. It was only a photograph on his Aunt Hilda's kitchen table, but it was a revelation nonetheless. That any smile, any eyes, any face could, even in a photograph, captivate him so. It was of course four summers later that he finally saw the young man in person. He closed his eyes for a moment and could remember the day as clearly as ever….

With some effort, he pulled himself away from those precious and painful memories and found the boy staring at him again in confusion.

" _Obliviate._ "

"Harry, my boy, how are you?"

"Fine, sir," Harry answered flatly.

Albus eyed him apprehensively. The boy's recovery time was slowing, the glassy eyes lingering. He breathed a sigh of relief as Harry blinked and came back to himself.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, well, I think it's time we had a little Talk," he began.

He watched the boy fidget nervously in his chair and twinkled brightly to set him at ease.

"Lemon drop, Harry? No? Well as you may know, third year is a time when many students first take an interest in dating. In fact, broom cupboards aside,"—he smiled indulgently as Harry blushed—"Hogsmeade weekends seem to be the most popular destination for young couples to get to know each other better."

"I can go to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked excitedly, completely forgetting the topic at hand. "My relatives—"

"No," he cut Harry off. "I'm sorry, my boy, but given the current situation, I don't think that will be possible."

"Situation, Professor?"

Ah, he hadn't meant to let that slip.

" _Obliviate._ "

Albus pulled a dandelion yellow handkerchief from the sleeve of his robes and dabbed his brow. Things were well out of hand if _he_ was divulging secrets.

He replaced his handkerchief and helped himself to a couple more lemon drops. He closed his eyes and hummed the school song.

Okay, he was ready.

Again.

" _Obliviate._ "

Bugger, he forgot what he was going to say.

" _Obliviate._ "

Albus was beginning to think that he simply wasn't the right person to give this Talk. But who else, then? The boy's uncle was unwilling, or would do more harm than good. His godfather was out of the question, obviously. Remus Lupin was still out of the country. Arthur Weasley was a possibility, though the way he and Molly raised poor Ginevra to worship the boy hinted at a conflict of interest, to say the least. He needed someone who would do it right, someone he trusted. Severus, perhaps? No, he was reasonably sure the former and future spy wouldn't consent to help—not unless he could be convinced the Talk was relevant to his oath to protect the boy…. No, that wouldn't work, either. There truly was no one else for the job.

"Harry," he reluctantly began.

The boy waited patiently for him to continue.

"I think it's time that I explain some things to you."

The boy tilted his head. "What sort of things, Professor?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he said evasively, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. While they served him well in most situations, his well-practiced evasive tendencies would not help in this instance. "Sex, Harry. And relationships."

He watched the boy's face pale.

"Now, now, my boy, I'm sure it won't be that bad," he lied, popping another lemon drop into his mouth.

Lies and evasion. He really wasn't the right person to give this Talk. He wondered if Filius could help. Or … he ran through all the unsuitable candidates in his mind. Hagrid, Argus, Cuthbert, Horace, Elphias, Aberforth, Alastor, Firenze. Were there no fathers amongst his friends? Actually, he realized, he wasn't sure if Cuthbert or Firenze had any sons. He would have to ask them someday. But either way the more immediate problem remained: he was on his own and—he checked his pocket watch—they had been sitting in silence again for going on ten minutes, the boy scared even to make eye contact. Merlin, what a disaster.

" _Obliviate._ "

Yes, this was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined. So difficult, so frustrating, in fact, that he considered scrapping the whole Talk. Perhaps instead he really should take the opportunity to warn the boy about the traitor Black, his escape, and the fugitive's likely motives. It was a topic he would ordinarily dread, as it would be so cruel to place the burden of that knowledge on an innocent child. Even he, after all these years, could scarcely believe Black's betrayal….

And why is it, he wondered, that so many handsome young men turn Dark? And if they're not Dark then they're dead, he thought bitterly. Or worse. He made a quick tally in his head. For every James Potter there was a Sirius Black, a Lucius Malfoy, a Tom Riddle. _And_ _Gellert_. And then, in his own Order: Severus, Alastor, Peter. He shuddered. Was it coincidence? At least there was some hope for the future, he mused. Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Cedric Diggory, even the young man sitting before him—all would likely fight for the Light in the coming war. Though one mustn't count their eggs, he chided himself.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Yes, where was I?" he said distractedly.

He mentally backtracked, but couldn't find his place. What had he told the boy? What else did he need to tell him?

"You hadn't said anything, yet, sir," the boy answered helpfully.

" _Nothing?_ " he sighed.

This really was going to take all morning.

" _Obliviate._ "

Bugger.

Now he remembered. The Contraceptive Charm was an important part of any Talk. Unfortunately, he had never bothered to learn it. Well, he could Conjure a condom. With some careful wandwork, he could probably Vanish the seed before it was planted, though if he were to teach such an unorthodox method it would be quite an awkward lecture and a very problematical practical…. No, he decided, better to send him a book or pamphlet, if Poppy has any at hand. Speaking of whom— He leaned forward to examine the boy. Harry's pupils were still dilated and he'd stopped blinking. He hoped this was only a temporary side effect of repeated Obliviation because he didn't fancy explaining it to the matron.

"Harry?"

He waved his hand in front of the boy's face.

"Me?" the boy mumbled.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he asked gently.

The boy didn't answer—didn't even seem to recognize him.

"I said, are you alright, Harry?"

Nothing.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Tom," the boy slurred.

Tom. _Tom?_ Surely not,—"You've been speaking to Tom, Harry?"

"Tom's been helping me," the boy answered listlessly.

In an instant every hair he had was standing on end. He couldn't breathe. It was unthinkable! Somehow, in spite of all his efforts, Tom had corrupted the boy. For the first time since that fateful day ninety-four years ago he felt truly afraid. And he couldn't help but remember that she had been about this same age. But, despite his old heart's protests, he knew what he must do. He raised his wand and was not at all surprised to find his hand trembling. It was never easy. He closed his eyes and fortified his Occlumency shields, summoning all his strength.

"He's not even charging me for the room," the boy drooled.

He gasped and dropped his wand. Tom. The _barman_ , Tom! How could he have thought—! He sunk back into his chair and smoothed his beard, his heart still pounding furiously in his chest. It took several deep breaths before he was calmed.

Well, he tried to assure himself, no harm was done. Thank Merlin for that.

No, he was just a bit twitchy after a long morning. A bit paranoid, perhaps, since the Chamber fiasco last term. And who could blame him for jumping to conclusions? After all a fragment of Tom's soul had possessed and very nearly killed a young girl just months ago. And, of course, this very boy had been intimately involved in the whole affair— _had_ in fact spoken to Tom's memory.

But to think what he had nearly done! Merlin, he could use a drink.

He Summoned his wand back to his hand and stood, Vanishing his Conjured armchair with a flick of the wrist. He thought to excuse himself, but the boy was still glassy-eyed and incoherent. No, better to just slip out and trust that Harry would remember nothing of his visit.

And he could really use that drink.


End file.
